


The Gestation Condundrum Contingency

by descartes



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/descartes/pseuds/descartes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very true story of how a freelance superhero working for a top-secret organization has to deal with some very uncomfortable facts of life (and evil mad scientists who want to take over the world). (A 'The Middleman' AU written for mrsachid for cookleta_hols' 2010 fic exchange.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gestation Condundrum Contingency

**Author's Note:**

> Some lines were taken from _The Middleman_ TV series, especially episodes one, four and eleven; [The Middlepedia](http://middleman.wikia.com/wiki/The_Middlepedia) and [TV Tropes](http://tvtropes.org) were also invaluable. A multitude of thanks to the following: epicflailer for her enthusiasm and hand-holding, the wrisomifu community for its support as I wrote the last 9000 words, rajkumari905 for the encouraging read-through and jehane18 for the speedy beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Content notes: non-explicit violence, use of "█" to indicate censored swear words

  


**A.N.D. LABORATORIES PRIVATE ZOO AND WILDLIFE PARK  
5:45 P.M.**

  
"Duck!"

In a normal world, David might have interpreted that as "decrease the elevation of your head to avoid incoming projectiles". But ever since he'd nearly taken a bar stool to the face after trying to fight a many-eyed tentacled monster, the call was more correctly translated to mean:

"Don't let the shape-shifting mallard get away!" yelled his boss in front of him, and David, adjusting the High-Frequency Particle Restabilizing Gun under his arm, careened sharply to the left for intercept.

After more shouting, a high-pitched mechanical whine, agitated feathers clashing against a hopelessly unfashionable Eisenhower jacket, and a miniature sonic boom, David found himself sprawled at the bottom of a grassy knoll, watching his boss, The Middleman, wrestle a resentful duck previously hell-bent on world domination into a specially-lined crate.

Archie re-checked the locks a final time before jogging over to David to help him up. There was a long streak of dirt and grass smeared down a leg of his black pants. "Jeepers! Are you OK?" he asked.

David waved the still-smoking HFPRG absently. "Fine," he said. "A little winded."

Archie's brow furrowed. "The duck hit you pretty hard back at the lab," he said, looking as if he was seconds away from ripping David's shirt off right then and there to check for any injuries.

Sighing inwardly (and a little regretfully), David stepped back and nodded toward the crateful of subdued if still resentful duck. "We should get it back to HQ, boss."

 

 **MIDDLEMAN HQ  
6:10 P.M.**

  
"Now that we've taken care of the megalomaniac waterfowl—" there was a resentful quack from inside the Cognitive Assimilation Therapy Cage, and David thumped it gleefully, "—we can get on with more pressing business, David. Namely, your training."

David groaned, not caring if it made him sound immature and whiny. "But I've been through Sensei Ping's hand-to-hand combat boot camp, your intensive firearms/science and technology/defensive driving workshops and that seminar on intergalactic diplomacy. What else is there to know?"

From where she was seated filling up the paperwork, Ida retorted, "How about Being a Deadbeat Musician 101? Oh, I forgot — you aced that already."

 _If only it didn't make me sound even more immature and whiny to answer back,_ David thought and pointedly did not stick his tongue out at her. Ida, Archie had repeatedly told him, did not generally like Middle-Apprentices and David shouldn't take her remarks to heart. Besides, she was a robot and didn't have any feelings that could be insulted or hurt.

Archie ignored their sniping as usual. Instead, he took out a clipboard and told David, "You have to remember: There is no end to what a Middleman can learn."

Resigned, David found a chair and sat comfortably. "You're the boss, boss. What's it gonna be?"

"Don't worry," Archie said, smiling. "It's simply a pop quiz on Middleman procedures, acronyms, weapons, gadgets and things."

David tipped his chair back and grinned. Those long nights leafing through the Middle-Manual might just pay off. "Hit me."

"Define HEYDAR and BTRS."

David laced his fingers behind his head. "The first is our shiny silver ball that gives us all the answers we need, like Google only without the pesky privacy laws. Also unlike Google, Ida puts it over her head. BTRS stands for 'Beyond the Realm of Science Scanner', which is what you point at unusual phenomena to figure out what's up — and shouldn't I have one of my very own now that I'm no longer an untrained operative?"

"When you've finished the module on quantum relativism," Archie murmured, jotting something down on the clipboard. "What's our motto?"

"The Middleman: Fighting Evil So You Don't Have To."

"What's Code 86?"

David cleared his throat. "It's Code for 'I am having personal time of a sexual nature and would prefer that Ida and the Real-Time Situation Recording Archive (and possibly my boss) not ogle me as I do it',” he said, though his tone only very vaguely approached the friendly teasing that he’d been aiming for.

The way Archie’s eyes were fixed on his clipboard showed he’d noticed it too. "Well— um, that's full marks, David. I'm, er, pleased that you've taken to our profession like a—"

"—duck to world domination?"

Archie beamed, good humor returning. "Precisely."

"Humans," Ida said behind them, and stamped another file.

 

 **A FLASHBACK  
SIX MONTHS, TWO DAYS AND FOUR HOURS AGO**

  
"Look, I'm not calling you 'The Middleman'. That's too long."

"But it rolls off the tongue very easily," his boss objected.

"You're missing the point!" David exclaimed. "Yes, 'The Middleman' has alliterative qualities that make it very easy to say in times of danger—"

"—or peace—"

"—or peace, but it's not a name. It's a title. And since we're going to share many moments of life-threatening peril in the foreseeable future, I'd rather call you by a name that's you, not a position that's been held by who knows how many people in the past."

"The Middleman _is_ me, and there have been 3793 Middlemen," his boss replied. David simply stared at him. "Oh, all right. What do you want to call me?"

David shook his head. "That's not how it works; I'm not naming you. Give me a name."

"Fine. You can call me, uh, Archie."

"Archie? Is that your real name? Oh. I suppose asking for your real name is a violation of some regulation somewhere. What the hell. Archie it is." He held out his hand, and Archie eyed it suspiciously before shaking it. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Archie."

"You too, David."

 

 **THE ILLEGAL SUBLET THAT DAVID SHARES WITH ANOTHER YOUNG, LACONIC MUSICIAN  
8:30 A.M.**

  
Something was making an awful racket. It wasn't very loud, but it was extremely insistent and would not be ignored. David groaned and pushed his face into his pillow, trying to capture the dissipating traces of his dream.

It had been very nice, that much he could tell from the lingering _rightness_ it left in him. He was behind the counter of the bar he used to work at, making desultory conversation with a couple of regulars as he wiped glasses down and kept an eye on the baseball game playing on the TV across the room. Then his attention was caught by a sharp rap of knuckles on wood, and he turned, and a husky voice punctuated by a pleasant smile had politely asked for a tall glass of milk. As David handed it over without comment (rule # 3 of bartending: all orders are equal), the polite, pleasant figure took a deep swig, smiled again, and suddenly boosted himself over the counter and kissed David deeply, all cold dairy and a hint of minty-fresh breath lingering on David's lips. Then he lifted an arm and shot a many-eyed tentacled monster that suddenly loomed out of nowhere—

—that was not good. David groaned again. Then he stuck an arm out and fumbled for the whooping Middle-Watch on his nightstand. **ALERT** , it intoned. **PRIORITY MESSAGE**

"What?" he muttered, jabbing at the call button a little too vehemently.

Archie's head _(oh his mouth had been so pliant, and so fantastic)_ appeared on the tiny watch-face. He was bright-eyed and fresh-faced, completely unaware that his sidekick-slash-apprentice had just woken up from a very nice but completely inappropriate dream that retconned one highly-important detail in their introduction to each other. "David," he was saying, "we have a grade-three GEGW situation. Be at HQ in 10 minutes."

David yawned expansively, managing to slip on the watch and roll out of bed at the same time. "GEGW?"

"Genetic Experiment Gone Wrong," Archie replied.

"Gotcha."

David made hasty work of his Middle-Uniform, wrestling with the knot of his tie as he ran down the spiral staircase that separated his room from the rest of the sublet. His roommate was already on the couch, bent over his Gibson guitar and a battered notebook. Without even looking up, Neal tipped his head toward the fresh pot brewing in the Mr. Coffee they’d salvaged and painstakingly rebuilt.

"Thanks, man," David sighed, drinking deep. "There's an emergency at the office."

A huff of what might have been amusement. "Good thing your boss is cute." _That_ was definitely amusement.

"Don't call him 'cute', I work for the guy," David replied automatically. "And you know me, saving the world in my own way. Where's my— never mind, found them."

Neal raised an expressive eyebrow. "Fight the good fight, ███████. Analogue tonight? Monty's playing."

David hurriedly jammed his feet into his boots and made for the door. "Don't let him drink all the beer. Gosh darn it, I'm going to be late."

"'Gosh darn it.'" Neal's voice was flatter than an out-of-tune note.

Wincing, David stubbornly refused to whirl around and defend himself. He was already late. So he called out, "My boss' boss' boss says profanity cheapens the soul and weakens the mind," and slammed the door shut.

 

 **AN UPSCALE SHOPPING MALL WITH A ROOF GARDEN  
9:00 A.M.**

  
"A topiary shrub turned into a tiger? How is that even possible?" He could feel Ida giving him a Look, despite her being miles away in HQ, and David rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. Six impossible things before breakfast. Let me rephrase: _why_ would anyone want to turn a topiary shrub into a tiger? What for?"

"That's what we're here to find out," Archie said cheerfully, shutting the driver's-side door to the Middlemobile. He strode towards the police officer standing by the crime-scene tape, fake I.D. in hand, David at his side.

"Who are you?" the officer asked, eyeing them apprehensively. David couldn't blame her; even the hardiest members of law enforcement would be a little jumpy at a tiger materializing in a crowded haven of greenery in the heart of the busy metropolis.

Archie and David flashed their I.D.s. "I'm Mr. Lopez and he's Mr. Tyler. We're from the Tiger Conservation Union. We understand there's an endangered _Panthera tigris tigris_ hiding among the azaleas."

"Yes," she said. "A kid discovered it, thought it was a stuffed toy at first. Everybody was evacuated, and so far no one's been hurt. The tiger hasn't even moved — it's just lying there, acting remarkably un-tiger-like."

"That happens sometimes," David said solemnly, and Archie added, "May we see the poor creature?"

She raised the tape in reply. "Be my guest."

As they moved away from her line of sight, Archie took out his BTRS and started scanning the hedges.

David asked him, "How do we even know that the tiger used to be a plant, and that it wasn't teleportation or wormholes or whatever?"

"Morphic resonance," Archie said and tapped something on the scanner. "This kind of animal-to-plant transformation is detectable by our sensors. Hmm. The BTRS is detecting traces of phlebotinum."

"Phlebotinum? What’s— Never mind. Your technobabble scares me." They reached the spot where the tiger was discovered. It was, as the officer had described, lying quiescent in a bed of pink rhododendrons. In an undertone, David asked, "Is it alive?"

"Yes." Archie squinted at the BTRS. "It appears as if the structure of the topiary bush was manipulated so that it resembled the body of a tiger."

David thought this over and dropped to his heels in front of the tiger. It yawned hugely, showing off its sharp teeth and rough tongue, and rolled over. "It's cute for a carnivorous predator with the mind of a plant. But I still don't get why anyone would do this."

"Neither do I, but the possibilities are too horrifying to contemplate." Archie held the Middle-Watch to his mouth. "Ida, please run a scan on the HEYDAR for any pulsating phlebotinum energy signatures. Whatever device did this is bound to require a heck of a lot of juice."

"Two steps ahead of you, skippy. I've scanned the city and narrowed it down to one possibility. The strongest signature is coming from an abandoned warehouse at the old tuna processing plant."

 

 **AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE AT THE OLD TUNA PROCESSING PLANT  
11:07 A.M.**

  
"One giant panda, one snow leopard— oh, _three_ giant pandas, right— and a ratel. That's it? Wire the money to my account and I'll forward the shipping instructions when I receive confirmation." Archie and David, crouching behind some rusty canning equipment, watched as the mad scientist — they usually were, and this man's lab coat gave him away — stuffed his cellphone in his pocket and walked towards what appeared to be an enormous high-tech cannon that nearly reached the ceiling of the cavernous warehouse.

"It's a phlebotinum-powered plasma ray," Archie whispered in David's ear. His entire left side was pressing against David's back. "This is what he's using to turn plants into animals — rare, endangered animals that he's selling into the black market."

"The tiger in the roof garden was, what? Some sort of long-range test?" David whispered back.

Archie nodded, then suddenly stood up and stepped into the open. "Please step away from the plasma ray, sir."

The scientist whirled around, gaping. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he snarled.

"I'm the Middleman, and I'm here to stop you from selling your fraudulent animals into the underground endangered animals trade," Archie declared. David saw his foot tap three times and carefully inched towards the other side of their cover, removing his gun from its holster. _The Fire Exit Paradox Gambit: an oldie but goodie._

Sufficiently distracted by Archie and Archie’s apparent lack of firepower, the scientist broke into a monologue. "My colleagues thought that I was mad when I proposed this groundbreaking use of phlebotinum! Me, Doctor Hoyt, the world’s leading researcher in trans-kingdom morphology! Three institutes rejected my plans to build a plasma ray and my license to practice veterinary medicine was revoked! Humiliated, I built my own plasma ray and slowly created a fortune selling rare animals in the black market, so that one day, I could obtain enough phlebotinum to take revenge on those idiots in the institutes! My plan—"

 _—is sheer elegance in its simplicity_ , thought David.

"—is sheer elegance in its simplicity!" Hoyt concluded, triumphant.

"Your days trading animals modified using applied phlebotinum are over," Archie said calmly.

"Never!" Coat swirling dramatically, Hoyt spun and pressed a big red button on the plasma ray. Yellow light shot from it, missing Archie, who ducked away just in time. David didn't hesitate, and launched himself from his hiding spot. He rammed his shoulder into Hoyt's side, causing both of them to land a few feet away from the plasma ray. But Hoyt was evidently tougher than the garden-variety mad scientist because, cursing loudly, he managed to land a few lucky punches that stunned David while he made his getaway.

David wiped blood off his chin and got to his feet, muttering "███████!" before following him out of the room into one of the side corridors.

"You'll never catch me!" he heard Hoyt yell as David chased him through nearly-identical hallways. "I know this warehouse like the back of my hand!"

David gritted his teeth and concentrated on tracking the footsteps that seemed to echo around him. The taste of blood was still heavy in his mouth, his heart still pounding from the sight of Archie narrowly avoiding the plasma ray’s beam. He glimpsed a shadow and, whipping out his neutrino gun, quickly fired— at nothing.

"HA!!!" came from the opposite direction. Rolling his eyes at Hoyt's quick descent into a triple-exclamation-points level of madness, David reoriented himself, only managing to miss a flying toolbox to the head by tripping over some exposed pipes. The infuriating laughter receded from his hearing range.

"Why won't these ███████ mad scientists just ███████ surrender for once?" groaned David, getting up and breaking into a run, doubling back several times until he recognized the corridors again.

 _He's going back to the plasma ray! Archie!_

He skidded to a halt at the room's entrance, quickly cataloging the pertinent elements of the situation:

Doctor Hoyt desperately typing something into the plasma ray's control interface. The plasma ray glowing an ominous yellow. Archie, unconscious on the floor, in the path of said plasma ray.

David didn't even blink; he aimed and pressed the trigger of his gun. He was only about six seconds too late.

The plasma ray exploded in a shower of sparks, electrocuting the doctor fatally, but not before he managed to slam a fist down on the start button. The ray emitted a burst of odd blue light that struck Archie square on the chest.

"No!" David yelled, sprinting towards him. He hopped right over Hoyt's lifeless form and fell to his knees at Archie's side. He frantically searched for a pulse, found one weak and thready but _still there_ , and felt as though a white-hot lump that had suddenly lodged in his throat dissolve.

Archie stirred, a hand lifting to press itself on his forehead. David helped him struggle to a sitting position. "Wha—" he mumbled, then coughed, trying again in a stronger voice. "Sweet Caroline, what happened?"

"Doctor Hoyt's dead — fried by his own plasma ray," David said, jerking his head to the smoldering heap behind them. He didn't bother to sound apologetic about it. "And you got hit, but the color of the light wasn't yellow like it was the first time. How are you feeling?"

"I don't feel like my genetic material had been re-written to relocate me to a different branch of the animal kingdom," Archie assured him. "Just a little woozy, but I think that's from the defensive force-field around the plasma ray throwing me to the wall when I got too close trying to deactivate it."

David finally let go of Archie's arm. "Are you sure?"

Archie got to his feet and grinned reassuringly. "Nothing a good night's rest won't cure. Don't worry, the Middle-Watch will alert me if my DNA goes wrong."

"Hey, boss," David said. "There's something I need very badly."

Archie looked concerned. "What is it?"

David stepped closer and hugged him, burying his face in Archie's hair. He felt Archie stiffen minutely, and his breath hitch, and then he felt the pressure of Archie's fingers curling themselves tentatively around David's sleeves.

 

 **MIDDLEMAN HQ  
THREE DAYS LATER**

  
David was in the changing room, rummaging for a new jacket after a tiring day of chasing after — and later getting nearly burnt to a crisp by — a fire-spewing spirit summoned by a hapless gaggle of high school students, when the overhead lights started flashing red and white, and Ida's voice announced over the invisible speakers, _**CONTAMINATION ALERT. CONTAMINATION ALERT.**_

He groaned out loud. "Oh, come _on_. I know HQ is invaded three times a year on average, but I was about to go home and watch a mindless action movie!"

His watch chirped. It was Archie, who'd stayed in the control room with the artifacts they'd confiscated from the teenagers while David changed into non-singed clothing. "Great Barrier Reef! David, it seems that an artifact we've brought back for study has released an unknown alien pathogen," he said. "HQ will be going on lockdown to prevent its spread throughout the ten levels and hundreds of rooms within the building. Please stay calm."

Even as Archie said it, David could see the air vents on the walls closing and a slab of steel sliding in front of the door. He also heard the hissing noise of a ventilator kicking in somewhere above him.

"Yeah, I can see it," David reported. "What about you? You're in the room with the artifact!"

"I've moved to the nearest decontamination room while Ida (who's fortunately non-organic) directs the clean-up." He smiled reassuringly at David. "Don't worry. I'll be breathing in enough aerosolized antibiotics and scrubbing every inch of my body before the pathogen even begins to take hold."

David refused to imagine himself in a sterile Etruscan-tiled chamber with his boss, holding a foamy sponge while strategically-positioned steam billowed around Archie's naked— _Now is_ not _the time_ , he told himself sternly. "OK, boss. Keep in touch," he replied.

The changing room was really one of the worst places to be stuck in, David decided sourly after several minutes passed. He couldn't practice his martial arts skills because of the too-small space, and there weren't even any soporific technical manuals he could use to bore himself into the quick nap.

He settled down on the floor, well away from the pile of discarded charred clothing, and started practicing his air guitar. Neal had been making noises about writing a new song for weeks; David just hadn't been paying that much attention, what with being occupied by fighting evil and pursuing justice. He felt bad about how he'd zone out whenever his friends swapped lines of songs they'd written. _Note to self,_ he thought, frowning to himself, _find my scraps and see if there's anything salvageable for the next meeting._

Caught up as he was in ensuring that his fingers hadn't forgotten the chords to Our Lady Peace's last ten singles, he didn't notice the passage of time until his watch ("And it can tell time!" he'd said with fake awe when Archie pointed out the Middle-Watch's many features, and Archie had shot him a confused look) beeped the hour. David stretched cramped fingers, then stilled.

Archie hadn't spoken to him since the initial update.

David might often loudly complain about how by-the-book Archie was about so many things, never mind that David didn't usually know what "book" they went with during missions, but he could freely admit in the privacy of his own mind that it was soothing to work for someone who was so textbook Prentice-Hall could sell him to elementary schools. It was undeniably calming that Archie was predictable, an atomic clock of proper procedures and rigorous protocol despite the existence of monsters, aliens and androids.

From past experiences with HQ intrusions, David knew — as he knew of the dairy thing and the musical comedy thing — that Archie always, without fail, sent situational updates every five minutes on the dot. The only times he'd failed to send the updates where when the two of them were already implementing their scheme to remove from HQ whatever hostile entity had invaded it, or when Archie had been too injured or too unconscious to send them.

Since technically Ida was implementing the entity-removal scheme this time around—

David tapped his watch. "Boss? You there?" he asked, striving to keep his voice steady. No response. David swore loudly and tapped out the emergency sequence that forced all other active Middle-Watches within a five-mile radius to emit a 120-decibel tone.

When the watch whooped, David nearly collapsed in relief, but immediately straightened again when Ida's cranky face appeared on the face. "Why are you making that racket?" she asked. "Robot trying to save your ass from a potentially-deadly alien pathogen here!"

"It wasn't meant for you, Ida," David snapped. "I was trying to reach Archie; he isn't responding to my call."

"He probably decided to stop bothering with your caterwauling," replied Ida, but David could tell her (metaphorical) heart wasn't into the gibe; Ida knew better than David that Archie considered his Middle-Watch sacrosanct. "I'll look into it. I hope the pathogen finds its way to where you are in the meantime."

David was too grateful to roll his eyes at the parting shot.

"I can detect his body's heat signature in the decon room," she reported instantly. "It's marginally elevated, but still within normal parameters."

At the word "elevated", David scrambled to his feet. "████, was he infected?"

"No pathogens whatsoever were detected in the decon room. Every trace of it was eliminated from him from the combo of the antibiotics and the decon protocol washing. And before you ask, no, he isn't allergic to anything in that room."

"Right. Get me out of here so I can see if he's OK."

"What part of 'lockdown' don't you understand? Nothing, I repeat, _nothing_ organic is leaving its current position until the contamination has been cleared. Not even I can override that."

"What about Archie?" David nearly shouted, using his free hand in what he knew was a futile attempt to search for any release lock or control panel on the steel barrier.

She squinted at him. "What about him? Has his Code 47 activated?"

David stopped scrabbling at the door. Code 47, which contained a pre-recorded last message, was always transmitted when the Middleman was dead. "No," he admitted grudgingly.

"Then he's still alive. Stop badgering me so I can finish decontaminating and you can resume your normal blundering," Ida said, and closed the connection before David could further protest.

The next few minutes were sheer agony. David paced, swore intermittently and ran down emergency first-aid techniques in his head.

His Middle-Watch suddenly whooped again. "Can you open the door now?" David snapped. "Not in the mood for— Archie!"

His boss blinked up at him, looking vaguely confused. "David? I heard an awful racket. Did something go wrong with the decon?"

"No, it's—" David squinted at the screen, trying to pick up on the little details. Archie appeared to be in one piece and had not sprouted wings or other exotic appendages, but he did look exhausted. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and he couldn't tell if the droplets of water dotting his face were water or sweat. _He looks debauched, just like he would if you—_ , and David ruthlessly stamped down on that line of thinking. "You weren't responding when I called you."

"Didn't I? I'm sorry for worrying you and Ida."

"I wasn't worried, unlike Lassie over there," Ida interjected into the conversation.

"Do you mind? The carbon-based life forms are talking here," said David. "Anyway, why didn't you reply? Did something happen?"

"Nothing, really," Archie said casually. "I had been in so much pain I blacked out, but I'm feeling better now."

David spluttered. "Excuse me? Nowhere in the history of ever was 'Spontaneously I was in a lot of pain that I lost consciousness' merely _nothing_ , not even for Middlemen."

"But it really was nothing!" protested Archie. "After I finished scrubbing with the help of the Interrodroid, my insides suddenly felt like they'd liquefied, then hardened, then I didn't remember what happened next because I'd passed out. Then I woke up." He frowned. "I've got a bruise from where the Interrodroid was poking me."

David honestly did not know what to feel: jealousy because a robot had been trapped in the same room with his naked and wet boss while David was stuck playing imaginary alternative rock to an audience of ashes; concern for his boss, or annoyance towards the same boss for being his usual cavalier self. He settled for a mix of the last two — he'd be damned if he ever wished he were an android, and a pretty useless one like the Interrodroid, at that.

"You don't talk to other humans much, do you?" he told Archie. "Why were you in pain, then?"

"Bad dairy?" Ida offered, while Archie shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.

Something occurred to David. "Did it have anything to do with that plasma ray business with Doctor Hoyt? It messed with your morphology in some way, didn't it?"

"I don't think so. Our sensors would've detected that. I'm perfectly fine; it's probably a bad carton of milk like Ida said. Or a delayed reaction to whatever small amount of alien pathogen I inhaled before I got decontaminated."

David sighed and rubbed his temple. "As long as we make it clear that this never happens again," he muttered, and Archie flashed him a thumbs up.

 

 **A MONTH LATER**

  
Archie was waiting for him at the empty storefront entrance when David went in for work. He wasn't wearing his jacket and both of his shirtsleeves were rolled up. It could only mean one thing.

"That time of the year again?" he asked, and Archie nodded solemnly. David wished very hard that an imminent apocalypse would suddenly take place; fighting off an invasion by a rogue alien fleet using only his bare hands was vastly preferable to—

"This ain't happy fun times for me either," Ida, head mirror in place, said as the three of them convened in the control room around the baby HEYDAR, a miniature version of the high-tech ball that dominated the ceiling. She plugged herself in and motioned to David and Archie. "You know the drill."

David pulled off his jacket and yanked up his sleeve. "Not even the three weeks I spent temping at the Asbestos Research Center required this kind of thing, you know," he said, averting his eyes from the large and pointy needles Ida was screwing onto the baby HEYDAR's surface.

"It's better if you don't look while it's happening," Archie advised him, but his voice was also unsteady and David could see that _his_ arm was trembling slightly before David shut his eyes.

"Yeah, it's not like not seeing it would make it— ████!"

Beside him, Archie was silent save for a change in the speed of his breathing.

(The first time they had to have their blood tested, David had let loose a long and pretty inventive stream of obscenity as the needle plunged into his arm.

There was no audible reaction from Archie, so David opened his eyes, suspicious that this was some sort of freaky test for wannabe Middlemen and Archie was merely observing his reaction. But no, he too was getting his blood drawn, and painfully too, if the way his fist was clenched was any indication.

"How could you stand not swearing when it does that?" he'd asked later.

Archie'd replied, "I've learned to develop a high pain threshold. At the same time, profanity cheapens the soul and—"

"—weakens the mind. I get it." He knew he sounded sarcastic, but Archie had smiled so brightly at David quoting him word for word that he found it— well, after that, David had made it his goal to be less free with the invectives (at least in Archie's hearing).)

The needle withdrew after what seemed like an eternity, leaving behind a throbbing pain in the crook of David's elbow. He let the tension ease out of his body before he opened his eyes and accepted the combination antiseptic/analgesic wipe from Archie. Ida was immersed in analysing their blood samples, so the two of them adjourned to the other side of the room.

David flexed his arm; the wipe worked mercifully fast and it only took moments before the pain subsided into the light burn reminiscent of overtaxed muscles. "Now that the mandated sadistic interlude is done, anything on the evil-fighting agenda today?" he asked Archie.

"Nothing's come up so far," said Archie. "The day's young. Someone's bound to have a harebrained scheme to take over or destroy the world." The baby HEYDAR dinged. "Results are done."

 _Ida is much more bearable relaying blood test results_ , David mused as she reeled off a string of polysyllabic words and numbers with extended decimal spaces that sounded like gibberish to David, but seemed to wholly absorb Archie's attention. He tuned it out, as usual, so when Archie yelped, "What?" he didn't immediately realize what was happening.

Archie was staring at Ida, bewildered. "What 'what'?" David asked him.

"Can you repeat that, Ida?" Archie asked.

"Human chorionic gonadotropin detected. Level: 30 mlU/ml."

"But that's— that can't be!"

"Can't be what? Clueless dude with no training in advanced chemistry here."

Ida stopped doing her mass-spectrometer impersonation and said, "The HEYDAR is never wrong, boss. Your blood doesn't make stuff up for funsies."

Archie ran an agitated hand through his hair. "But… hCG? That's _impossible_."

"What's impossible? What are you guys talking about?" David was beginning to regret not minoring in biochemistry back in college, he really was.

Apparently taking pity on him, Archie let off staring at Ida to explain, "There are only two reasons why hCG would be detected in anybody's blood. Neither is a good thing. Ida, can you do a quick scan to confirm either diagnosis?"

"What are these reasons?" David asked, worried at the panic dawning on Archie's face.

"hCG is either a tumor marker for gestational trophoblastic disease or—"

"Gestational? Isn't that—"

Ida turned around. "I've finished the scan. Congratulations. You're going to be a mother."

Archie closed his eyes. "—pregnancy. Away in a manger, Ida. Are you sure?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Ida replied.

"Pregnancy. Our regulated monthly blood screening for weird job-induced illnesses just became your _pregnancy test_?" David's mind was reeling from the revelation.

"████," Archie said.

 

 **TWENTY-THREE SECONDS LATER  
████!**

  
All three of them stared at the image on the glowing screen. Correction: David and Ida were staring at the screen; Archie, who'd slumped into the nearest chair two minutes and one second ago, had both hands over his face and was moaning softly.

"Is there any possibility that this is not happening?" David said weakly.

"Sorry, but the scans are not prevaricating, deceiving or malfunctioning in anyway whatsoever," Ida said, not sounding sorry at all. "That's definitely a baby inside the boss, caused by a phlebotinum mutation the likes of which modern medicine has never seen."

The moaning grew louder. David glared ineffectively at Ida, then dropped into a crouch at Archie's feet. He placed his hands on Archie's knees. "Archie," he said lowly, "talk to me."

To David's deep relief, when Archie uncovered his face, there weren't any tears streaked across his cheeks. (If that stupid Doctor Hoyt had made Archie cry on top of everything else, David vowed to find a way to bring him back from the dead so he could have the pleasure of electrocuting him to a crisp again.) To David's even deeper alarm, Archie had his This-Is-The-Job face on.

He smiled down at David, a guttering candle compared to the supernova of his usual grin, and weakly patted the hands still on his knees. "I'm sorry about alarming you, David. Please get up."

David frowned, hesitating only very slightly before releasing his grip and standing up. "Don't apologize to me," he said, trying to keep his voice level.

"I'm so—" Archie started to say, then thought better of it. He took a deep breath and stood, swaying slightly. Clearing his throat, he smoothed down the sides of his jacket before turning to Ida. "Ida, can we assume that this threat has been contained?"

"If you mean that no one else is in danger of being spontaneously knocked up by a plasma ray, yes."

He stepped past David to peer at the screen. "My vitals look stable. Any anatomical difficulties present?"

"Nope," Ida replied, and the image flickered, replaced by several others in quick succession. "Despite the boy wonder over there doing untold damage to the delicate circuitry of that plasma ray, all of your existing innards have remained intact. Your newer innards are likewise well-formed."

"Hey!" David snapped, oddly defensive. "If I hadn't shot at that thing, Archie would've been the one-of-a-kind _Peromyscus middlemansis_ right now."

Archie flashed a soothing smile at him. "I know, and I'm very thankful." And the truly heartbreaking part was that David was 100 percent certain that Archie was telling the truth.

 

 **TWO MINUTES AND FIVE SECONDS LATER**

  
In the time that David had been employed by The Middleorganization, he'd already had to face hyper-intelligent flamingos, ooze monsters from outer space, reformed succubi who'd channeled their devious wiles into fashion design, zombie turnips, and enough horrible misuses of science to make him heartily sick of the entire branch of knowledge. These experiences, he supposed, allowed his brain to relatively make peace with the fact that his very male, very earnest and very celibate boss was pregnant.

Watching said boss sip from a specially-prepared glass of milk (Ida had said it was rich in multivitamins and folic acid), David couldn't help but ask, "So, uh, this thing has happened before?"

Archie looked up questioningly from where he'd been sitting at the edge of the medbay's exam bed, his feet dangling off the edge. _So absurdly young_ , came the sudden thought to David's mind, though he'd already been disabused many times over of the notion that Archie was in any way naïve or inexperienced.

"Middlemen who aren't biologically capable of producing offspring suddenly being able to do so, I mean," David clarified.

A thoughtful look passed over Archie's face and he set the milk down. "There's a protocol in place for it, if that's what you're asking. Code 73 Subsection G. It hasn't been activated since, oh, 1952, and that was only accidentally. Turns out what should have been activated was Code 73 Subsection K." At David's blank look, he added, "Protocol for Middlemen suddenly laying eggs. Anyway, it's basic procedure. Body scans, hormone levels, screening for possible tentacles and/or flippers."

"Flipper babies." Oh, right. There'd been that time with the homicidal android where Archie had asked a lot of probing questions about Cook and his sperm — his _sperm_ , for crying out loud! — before shooting the android's head off with a very large silver cannon.

Archie nodded. Before he could continue, Ida came back into the room wheeling a chart of shiny instruments, most of which had parts that made David blanch inwardly and want to cross his legs in self-defense. He moved closer to Archie in moral support.

"Shirt up," Ida ordered, slipping on a pair of goggles bristling with wires and squiggly antennae; David caught a glimpse of toned stomach before it was obscured by a series of electrodes being attached efficiently to skin.

Archie took his eyes off what Ida was doing long enough to say, "You don't have to be here, you know."

"You're my partner!" David exclaimed, strangely affronted. "Of course I want to— wait, you don't _want_ me to be here?"

To his surprise, a dull red color crept up Archie's neck. "It's not— heck, I know the whole business is awfully shocking, and I appreciate that you're here, but these tests are tedious and uninteresting, David. You're dismissed for the day."

David crossed his arms. "Yes, because swigging beer and listening to Radiohead covers until 2 a.m. is _obviously_ more important than being with my boss while his body's been messed with by a malfunctioning plasma ray."

"Is that sarcasm?" Archie asked, momentarily distracted by a ticker tape of figures Ida passed him. "Never mind. Of course you can stay. We'll consider this, hmm, a training exercise in matters of unusual biology."

"Good, I've always wanted to learn more about the different subsections of Code 73," David muttered in an undertone, but obligingly bent his head as Archie began his lecture on variable fluctuations in hormonal detection within the human body.

 

 **A FLASHBACK  
TEN MONTHS, TWENTY-ONE DAYS AND EIGHT HOURS AGO**

  
"That was…unexpected," David said, staring at the ooze dripping from his arm with faint disgust.

"Sorry about the mess," replied the boy with the taser. Of course, he was spotless and his olive-green (huh, was it a vintage Eisenhower?) jacket ooze-free.

David shrugged. "I was going to quit this job anyway. Is this going to stain my shirt permanently?"

The boy swiped at the goo with his index finger and examined it thoughtfully. Then he licked it, a dainty swipe of his pink tongue. "Three washings with warm water and lots of strong detergent ought to do it."

"Did you just _lick_ the oozing by-product from whatever that thing was that you just exploded with your taser?"

The boy's shoulders tilted upwards "It's non-toxic, and the 'thing' was a many-eyed tentacled monster escaped from another dimension. You're, uh, pretty good under pressure."

Leaning against an intact portion of the bar counter, David stuffed his clean hand into his pocket and squinted at the boy. Was he hitting on him? Usually, David could tell right off the bat, but this — plus the tentacled monster — was throwing him off his game, "I work nights and weekends at a bar in the seediest part of town. Can't show weakness or I get glass on my face every other Friday," he finally said.

"Huh." Whatever the boy — and there was really no other way to describe him: he had wide soft eyes with fine lines that suggested a lot of smiling, and if David had seen him on any other night, he'd have carded him without a second glance — was about to say next, it was interrupted by a whooping sound. It seemed to come from the silver watch on his wrist. "Phooey, I have to go. This is for you."

David took the business card thrust at him and asked, "Thanks, I guess. Is this the name of a cleaning service that specializes in tentacled-monster-ooze removal?"

But the boy was gone.

The card read,  


 _JOLLY FATS WEHAWKIN  
Temporary Employment Agency_  
OPEN 8 AM - 5 PM

  
"What kind of a name for a temp agency is this?" David wondered aloud to nobody in particular. He still pocketed the card.

 

 **ANALOGUE, THE BAR WHERE ALL THE BEST ROCK MUSICIANS IN TOWN HANG OUT  
2:03 A.M.**

  
Analogue was loud, smoky and reeking of stale bear and sweat as usual, but even the combined chaos of nearly fifty people having a good time to an amateur rock soundtrack couldn't drown out David's thoughts. He lifted his bottle to his mouth absently, only for his hand to meet resistance — it was Neal's hand, and Neal had an eyebrow raised.

"You OK, man?" he asked.

"Yeah.”

"You don’t look OK."

“It’s nothing."

Neal said, "████████. That bottle's been empty for five minutes."

David scowled and pushed back his seat, nearly crashing into some person passing behind him. "I'll be at the bar."

Andy looked over from where he was chatting with some people David vaguely recognized from their building and said, "Next round's on me, or did you forget? Please tell me you did."

"And deprive you of the pleasure of getting me drunk? I don't think so," replied David automatically. Andy flipped him off and went back to his conversation, but Neal wasn't as easily distracted.

While some band onstage tuned its instruments, he leaned closer and asked, "What the ████ is up, Dave? Some ████ happen at work?"

David wanted to say, _Hey, Neal. You know my current job? The one where I told you I do heavy lifting for a temp agency, except I work odd hours and come home with bruises or tracking slime or smelling of unidentified chemicals? I've been lying to you all this time: I'm actually the protégé of a freelance superhero. And you know how my boss is clean-living, perpetually-optimistic and old-fashioned despite looking like a college freshman? Well, I accidentally got him pregnant by carelessly shooting at a mad doctor's plasma ray, except he's all aw shucks goshdarned understanding about the whole thing and very firmly told me to go home and stop worrying. Unfortunately, I can't stop thinking about it, thinking about_ him _and wondering about where he lives and what he's doing right now, if he's having an extra glass of milk to cheer himself up, or if he's permanently disabling my gun so I won't shoot at something I'm not supposed to ever again. I don't know if he's got anyone other than our robotic assistant Ida to be with him right now. I don't even know if he's OK._

But he replied, "Nah, I'm fine," and ignored Neal's unimpressed look for the rest of the (middling and derivative) set.

 

 **THE ALLEY BESIDE THE ILLEGAL SUBLET THAT DAVID SHARES WITH ANOTHER YOUNG, LACONIC MUSICIAN  
SEVEN MONTHS AND TWENTY-NINE DAYS BEFORE DELIVERY**

  
David wasn't sure what to expect when the Middlemobile rolled to a stop in front of him. It sure wasn't to Archie rolling down the window, beaming up at him and saying, "Hello, David. Ready to fight evil and pursue justice today?"

"Yes," said David, and got into the car. There was the customary paper cup of hot coffee on the passenger side cupholder, while a vaguely baguette-shaped bundle of napkins was stuck inside the driver's side one. This all seemed eerily normal.

The way Archie was briefing him about the current situation was normal too, insofar as anything involving a nefarious plan that involved otters with lasers strapped to their backs could be considered normal. Archie's driving was also (boringly) safe as usual.

So: not talking about the whole pregnancy business. David could deal with that. He drank his coffee and nodded in appropriate places to show he was paying attention to Archie's narrative, managing not to spill anything when the glove compartment spat out a stack of case-relevant folders.

He set the cup aside and started rifling through the research Ida provided. "An exploratory study into the probability of attack by rabid sea otters," he read from one of the printouts, eyebrows arched. "That could be useful. I think."

There was, huh, a thin green folder wedged between a monograph on laser-equipped mammals in history and a diagram of otter anatomy. Case folders, David knew, were all brown and had the Middleman logo embossed on the front. He snuck a glance at Archie, who had moved on to brainstorming with Ida about possible suspects, and peered at green folder's contents.

It was a set of papers on the "Initiation of Code 73 Subsection G for the Middleman". Science-y stuff, mostly: electrocardiogram readings that he'd remembered Ida had taken, images with blobby spots that Archie and Ida'd gone "hmm" at deeply, a comparative line graph of hormone levels in Archie's blood over the last three years. But there was also a crisp white slip of paper at the very back on which was printed—

"It's for your information," Archie said, pulling David away from his examination. Not looking at him, Archie explained, "I want you to know so there won't be any, um, more surprises. Ida calculated the date of delivery using a truly fascinating equation that involved—"

"I'm sure it was," David replied quickly to stem the flow of too much information. He raised the folder in a mini-salute. "I'll keep this safe. Now, about those otters…"

Of course, the whole thing turned out to be the brainchild of a television personality with more cash and fondness for fish-eating mammals than sense. _Of course._

 

 **MIDDLEMAN HQ  
SEVEN MONTHS AND FIFTEEN DAYS BEFORE DELIVERY**

  
It was an unusually peaceful morning at HQ. No threats had been sent in for investigation, and so Archie had deemed it a great day to do maintenance. He assigned David to run diagnostics on their small firearms while he did inventory on the rest of their weapons, gadgets and things.

David was immersed in comparing a schematic of a positron blaster with the pile of funnily-shaped metal bits he'd spread out on his desk when his concentration was broken by a large wooden crate going BANG! as it was set down beside him. "█████ ████, Ida! Warn a guy!" he yelped.

He was spared a scathing remark about his intelligence, musicality or facial hair by Archie wandering into the room and saying, "I thought we weren't supposed to get anything from the higher-ups until next week, Ida."

Ida pointed out the red _URGENT_ stamped across the crate's side. "Special delivery from O2STK for the Middleman," she said.

"Huh," replied Archie and pried the lid off. David stood up and moved to stand beside him to see what shiny new weapon/gadget/thing the Organization Too Secret To Know had sent them.

After clearing out the layers of packing hay, the two of them lifted out what resembled a tabletop aquarium, if the aquarium was filled with some kind of viscous translucent liquid that glowed softly instead of water and tropical fish.

David took the enclosed user manual and read, "Cross-dimensional Resonance Amplifying Displacement and Long-Range Excubator. CRADLE. Catchy. I don't think 'excubator' is even a word." He flipped through the pages, eyebrows raised. "This is— whoa, unnecessarily graphic illustrations are unnecessary. Someone pass me the brain bleach." He handed it back to Archie with a grimace.

"Singing in the rain! Apparently, this device 'translocates targeted biomatter while retaining normal feedback mechanisms'," Archie quoted, eyes widening even as they scanned through the manual.

"In humanities-major-English, please."

"The CRADLE can temporarily transfer the physical mass of my, uh, baby while still maintaining all other physiological connections."

David tried to parse that into freshman humanities-major-English. "What for?"

Ida rolled her eyes at him. "Catch up, you hippie. When was the last time a villain didn't try to shoot, stab, punch, kick or otherwise maim or try to kill a Middleman?"

He stared at Archie, noticing how the glow from the CRADLE seemed to highlight the pallid cast of his skin. David wasn't slow on the uptake (despite what Ida always insisted), had known rationally the exponential increase of the danger involved once a hypothetical helpless third person was included in the work of Middlemen, but it hadn't been a terrifyingly real, terrifyingly concrete possibility until Ida had said it out loud. _It isn't a matter of if something goes wrong_ , he thought. _It's a matter of_ when.

Archie had pressed his thumb on the panel and was watching the liquid go completely opaque. He then removed his thumb, looked at something in the manual and said, "It's done. Now to put it in storage." Before David could even think of opening his mouth to say— something, he wasn't sure what, Archie took the CRADLE in his arms and smiled at him and Ida. "Please hold the fort while I find someplace cool, dark and mold-free where we can keep this."

"Not the second basement. I moved the xenobiological samples there," Ida advised.

David watched his retreating back for a few seconds before returning his attention to his discarded blaster. He tried to figure out how he ended up with seven screws despite the schematic only indicating three, before giving it up for a lost cause and setting after Archie.

He found him in the changing room, sliding the CRADLE into place on a high shelf in one of the unused cabinets. "David!" Archie said, surprised. "Is something wrong?"

"Besides my latest diagnostic? Everything's fine," David replied, then frowned. "No, let me correct that. Not everything's fine. Not with you."

Archie blinked at him. "But I'm—"

David raised a hand, palm up. "Please don't. Don't— tell me that it's all _fine_. You're— we've been through a lot together, and I know you're my boss, but I'm also your partner and—"

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Archie crumpled, sitting abruptly down on the nearest bench. "I was so afraid that O2STK was going to make me forcibly retire," he whispered, staring down at his shoes.

David sat next to him. "Why? Was that a possibility?" He had to admit some of the finer points of the Middle-Lore were fuzzy to him, but he was pretty sure that maternity leave never killed a Middleman's career (undetected parasites, on the other hand…).

Archie shook his head and, as if thinking along the same lines as David, said, "It's not the pregnancy, precisely. It's the whole—" he waved a hand vaguely "—set of circumstances that surrounds it."

"Oh, god, are they punishing you because of something I inadvertently did? But I was the one who ██████ up, not you!"

"No, no one's getting punished for that," Archie said firmly, and looked David in the eye. "I told you, I'm glad you shot at the plasma ray. Ida analyzed the blueprints and if I'd turned into a whatever, there's no way to reverse it."

"Then what is it?" David asked gently, bunching his fists on the fabric of his pants to keep them from grabbing Archie's in a very ill-timed gesture of otherwise well-meaning support.

Archie rubbed his arms briskly. "You know how I told you when I recruited you that being a Middleman opens your mind to the many possibilities of this universe and other universes?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't— I try to not have expectations about the job. What happens, happens, you know? It could be aliens today, and then the next—"

"—a succubus that preys on unsuspecting tax collectors?"

"Something like that. There's no point in dwelling about what could happen," explained Archie, his tongue flickering out to touch the corner of his lip. David closed his eyes briefly, glad that Archie had returned to staring at his regulation polished-to-a-mirror-shine shoes. "But despite having dealt with doppelgangers and mad scientists with mind-control helmets, I never thought I'd have to deal with my body doing… this."

"So why didn't you say yes when Ida offered to—"

"There are only two ways to stop being a Middleman," Archie interrupted in a hollow tone. "You either retire or die, and retirement very rarely ever happens. This isn't just a job. It's everything — your name, your history, your identity, all your flaws and faults — you have to give them all up to fight evil and pursue justice."

"And this is something that you don't want to let go of, no matter what the consequences might be," David realized.

Archie's shoulders slumped. "It's selfish of me, huh."

"No," David replied. "It's brave." Archie shook his head, disbelieving, so David elbowed him lightly. "I'm not kidding. You heard what Ida said. We've got great medical benefits, and I now know more about the many things that want to take over the world than I ever wanted to, but you have to admit that this job sucks."

The edges of Archie's mouth lifted almost unwillingly. "Thankless and unacknowledged heroism does get wearisome over time."

David nodded sagely. "Sure, the recruitment speech is fantastic, but imagine how many potential apprentices you might have driven off if you told them taking part means basically having the job take over your entire life. Not many people appreciate having their dates interrupted by a summons to fight a mutated sea serpent, you know."

"Like you," Archie said.

 _Because the person I want to date is fighting the mutated sea serpent beside me,_ David thought. Out loud, he merely said, "Like me. Yes, because my psych report says I'm a glutton for punishment. And people like you, because you're the most selfless person I know. No contradicting me here, Archie."

Archie was smiling now, a real smile that reached his eyes. "I'm not about to contradict your own experiences."

"That's right. Bow to my superior firsthand knowledge of my acquaintances," David joked, before saying, "Seriously, you know I'm here for you, right? Every step of the way, no matter what happens. Ida would say the same thing, but that's mostly because she's stuck here in HQ and can’t say otherwise."

Archie didn't reply, but his knee bumped gently against David's and stayed there, a point of warmth and human contact between them, and David knew everything he didn't say.

 

 **A FLASHBACK  
THREE MONTHS, THREE DAYS AND SIXTEEN HOURS AGO**

  
It wasn't a very starry night, light pollution managing to obscure anything of interest in the sky. Not that David was looking upwards, not when he had a wonderful being at his side, humming cheerfully as they walked to where the Middlemobile was parked, at the end of the quiet side street.

When they reached it, David abruptly realized that the tune Archie was humming was the same one David had been singing that morning in HQ, a tricky scrap of melody that he'd been working on that week. Without thinking, David turned his head and kissed Archie close-mouthed, almost chaste except for how he crowded Archie against the car.

Archie was still despite allowing David to push him back, and David was ready to pull away, when he made a strangled sound in his throat that reverberated all the way down to David's toes, wrapping his arms around David's neck and returning the kiss.

It was clumsy and exhilarating in ways even David's most feverish dreams hadn't managed to make up — his mind couldn't have possibly conjured up details like Archie's fingernails digging into his nape, or slickness of David's tongue teasing Archie's bottom lip, or the way Archie had to tilt his head back to meet David's mouth. It was glorious. David never wanted it to stop, only wanted to kiss away the raw yearning aching inside him, wanted to kiss Archie until he was moaning and wrecked in ways only David could make him.

He was about to tentatively explore the line of Archie's jaw, when something started whooping into his ear. It was part of a script he'd learned from heart from jerking awake, frustrated and annoyed, that he instantly broke away, snatching his hands from where they'd been gripping Archie in place.

"If this is a dream—" David groaned, at the same time Archie said breathlessly, "I should get this."

David reluctantly put a few inches of space between them. _Cockblocked by a cranky robot_ , he thought glumly. _What a life._

"—might need a flamethrower and industrial-strength bleach," Archie was instructing Ida. David watched him as he spoke, trying and failing to not imagine his dark hair mussed, preferably against a backdrop of David's pillows in his bed.

When Archie disconnected the call, he moved forward again, trying to lower his voice into a growl as he asked, "Now where were we?"

He was stopped by Archie shaking his head. Some of the warm fuzziness clouding David's mind receded and he went cold in the balmy night. He tugged uselessly at the hem of his jacket.

"I'm sorry about surprising you,” he blurted out. “It's not something I normally do, but you looked so, well—" he gestured towards the whole of Archie "—you that I just had to kiss you."

Archie shifted his weight, and with a sinking feeling, David watched as his eyebrows knit together, his gaze fixed on a point just below David's chin (David wasn't flattering himself into assuming he was distracted in a good way by it). He replied, "I know. It's just that I can't do this."

"Why not?" David asked. He knew for a fact that Archie didn't have anyone, never had in the whole time David had known him, never once had anybody wander to the Jolly Fats front office with tickets to some thing or a lunch-date (as David had, in the first month before he realized how terrible dating could be when one was a nine-to-five superhero). He also knew — and again he wasn't being unnecessarily vain — that the speculative glances Archie sometimes shot him weren't _always_ to assess his physical or mental preparedness.

Archie spread his hands beseechingly. "We barely know each other."

"We could go out if you'd like," David offered, only half-jokingly. "A completely mundane date to, to a Thai restaurant? Or a G-rated musical comedy film festival, if there's any coming up soon. I could look it up online."

"I don't—" Archie inhaled deeply and seemed to brace himself. "I can't ever, not with anyone, but especially not with you. If— if anything goes wrong and this falls apart, there's a lot more at stake than—"

Something shockingly painful surged through David at Archie's unbearably earnest features. "But why _not_? You told me, 'When true love comes knocking and you turn it away, it's on you, not the job or anything else.'" It was as if a dam had burst inside him. "You told me that a Middleman's ultimate sacrifice is to not be loved. You told me that a Middleman isn't a coward. What happened to that?"

He didn't look to see the way Archie flinched as though struck by a violent force; predictably, his own eyes were burning. Hoarsely, he continued, the anger in his voice giving way to bleak desperation, "I don't know anything about you, but I'd like to try."

For the first time since a strange young man upset an otherwise-ordinary life with the promise of heroism for its own rewards, Archie looked… _lost_ , the edges of his mouth still pink from both David's lips and David's beard. "'True love'?" he parroted back.

Suddenly, David felt like he'd been the one hit very hard somewhere soft and vulnerable. He wanted to double over, or beat his head against a convenient wall, or both at the same time.

"████████████. ████." He scrubbed agitatedly through his hair. "Look, I was seriously out of control and I didn't mean to call you a coward—"

"You're in lo—"

"—and I really do like being your sidekick or trainee or whatever you call it—"

"Middle-Apprentice."

"…I should have guessed. Where was I? Yes. OK. It was a moment of weakness (and dating dry-spell frustration) for which I take responsibility and which, I hope, isn't a one-way ticket out of HQ."

"No, of course it isn't!" Archie interjected, panicked.

"Good, because this job is the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me and I'd hate myself forever if some kiss in a deserted alleyway ruined that." He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to focus on the twinge of pain rather than the sickening burn of humiliation and anger coursing through his veins. "I know this is probably the worst time to ask for a favor, but can we pretend that none of this happened? _Please._ "

He watched the light bursting behind his eyelids and didn't trust himself to move until he heard Archie's quiet, "All right," and the beep of the Middlemobile's alarm deactivating.

When they got back to HQ after the world's most uncomfortable car ride, Ida took one look at the sorry pair of them and said, dispassionate as always, "Code 86 disables the Real-Time Situation Recording Archive during personal time like, say, an outtake from a telenovela during sweeps week. This is your friendly administrative reminder."

David dropped the atomic demolecularizer he was carrying. "What? You were _watching_ us?"

"It's my job to monitor the real-time situation, Justin Timberlake. You think I enjoy—"

"As much as I enjoy the banter," Archie interrupted firmly, "we've still got post-mission reports to do." He glanced at David, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'll take care of the recording, don't worry."

 

 **THE STATIONERY STORE IN DAVID'S NEIGHBORHOOD  
SEVEN MONTHS BEFORE DELIVERY**

  
It was David’s rare day off.

(Technically, evil never slept and the Middle-Watch meant he was on-call 24/7, so “day off” was shorthand for “a freak occurrence where absolutely nothing required saving or defeating, plus his boss had no pressing tasks for him to accomplish, so he was gloriously free… until the watch acted up.” As can be imagined, days off very rarely happened for members of the Middleorganization.)

Usually on his days off, David hung out with Neal and his other buddies, working on the album that mostly existed as a wistful dream since their college days. In fact, David had made plans to meet in some guy’s garage for an afternoon with the band, and he was already running late. But first, he had an errand to run.

 _The calendar-publishing community must be booming,_ he mused as he took in the display in front of him. He had his pick of colors, shapes, sizes and designs. He randomly plucked two from a shelf, which turned out to be _A Farmer’s Calendar of Grain Crops of South America_ and a frilly one with baby ducks. He briefly contemplated the ducks, then returned them both. No, what he needed was something a little more—

He crouched and after some quick excavation work, he pulled out a blank white calendar. The plastic label boasted of Swiss typographical influence, but David was more interested in its dimensions roughly equalling that of the empty space on his bedside table.

Almost entirely by itself, David’s hand drifted to the pocket where he kept his wallet. Even without taking it out, he could perfectly imagine the slip of paper — much folded and creased — he’d tucked in between his driver’s license and a childhood family photo.

Two months down, seven more to endure. He stood up and walked over to the counter, calendar in hand.

 

 **A BOILER ROOM IN A ~~MANOR~~ SUMMER COTTAGE  
7:00 P.M.**

  
While investigating reports of a cursed guillotine stolen by Count Featherstonehaugh ("wow, no wonder he turned to the dark side," David had said when Archie corrected his pronunciation), they'd been spotted by the count's goons sneaking around his ~~manor~~ summer cottage. Overpowered by sheer numbers, they were taken to a pitch-dark boiler room and chained to the pipes, awaiting execution by decapitation at sunrise. Since it was only seven p.m., Archie and David settled down to regain their strength.

"Archie?" David said after a few minutes of amiable silence.

Heavy chains clanked and scraped as Archie turned to face him. "Yes, David?"

"Can I ask a personal question?"

"Nothing in the Constitution is stopping you," Archie replied.

"I was wondering about, uh, the procedure for the, you know, birth."

"That's pretty easy. We'll use the Singularity Scalpel. It can cut through four dimensions while simultaneously cauterizing blood vessels and blocking pain receptors. Ida will operate and I'll stay awake to supervise."

"Huh. Good. That's very tidy. There's no chance of chest-bursting xenomorphs or— gory inhuman clawing happening, then."

"… _clawing?_ "

David was very thankful that both their expressions were shrouded in darkness. "Let's not discuss my bountiful knowledge of popular depictions of vampiric lore, shall we?"

"My hand's loose," Archie announced suddenly. "Let me retrieve my pocket laser cutter and we'll be free and destroying that guillotine before the sun appears over the horizon."

"Cool." He squinted against the sudden burst of light as Archie activated the cutter. When the chains broke, he rubbed briskly at his chafed wrists and asked, striving for a casual, breezy tone, "Can I be there with you when it happens?"

The cutting blade vanished, leaving them yet again in the dark. "No."

David froze, then nearly smacked his forehead against a low-hanging pipe. "Sorry," he said hurriedly. "I know how private you are—" He was stopped by a light touch on his arm, fleeting and barely there.

"It's not that. The Singularity Scalpel might accidentally target you and cut through your four dimensions right into your liver. You can watch from the observation room. But thank you. For offering."

 

 **THE ILLEGAL SUBLET THAT DAVID SHARES WITH ANOTHER YOUNG, LACONIC MUSICIAN  
FIVE MONTHS AND FOURTEEN DAYS BEFORE DELIVERY**

  
"I told you, it's OK for you to drive back to HQ. I'm fine," Archie protested for what seemed like the thousandth time.

David paused in the midst of pulling up the elevator cage's gate to shoot him a disbelieving look. "No matter what Ida tells you, I do not enjoy cleaning up ectoplasm from the upholstery of the Middlemobile. I'm sure I'll enjoy cleaning up your vomit any better." Noticing how Archie was paling rapidly and starting to sway on his feet, he softened his tone. "C'mon, you can puke in my bathroom just as easily as you can in HQ."

"Please don't use the word 'puke'," muttered Archie, but allowed himself to be led down the short length of hallway into the (thankfully Neal-less) sublet and steered towards the couch. In the kitchen, David found a plastic basin filled with, huh, about thirty guitar picks (what was up with that?) and emptied it, filling it instead with tap water with one hand while the other found the least-stained wash cloth from the towel rack by the sink. These he set on the coffee table by Archie's knees. Archie was unfolding a paper bag with deliberate care, and then was very carefully sick in it.

Wincing at the sound, David swapped the bag for the damp cloth and disposed of it, not coincidentally giving Archie a few second to compose himself. He took a quick mental inventory of what was in his cabinets, decided that he really should go grocery-shopping and went back to Archie with two Dixie cups of water. He rubbed soothing circles over Archie's back while he rinsed out his mouth and drank.

"Better?" he asked.

"Still nauseated, but there's nothing left in my stomach to vomit out," Archie admitted.

David sat next to him on the couch and rummaged through a nearby pile of papers and assorted junk until he found the battered cookie tin that he'd stashed there some weeks ago. As he pried the top off, he explained, "I called my mom — and believe me, that was not an experience I ever wish to repeat — and she told me ginger candies can lessen your nausea. I bought some just in case."

Archie peered at the handful of foil-wrapped chews David held out and took a piece. "Oh, thank you. If I may ask, what did your mom say?"

"What moms usually say when you call them asking for pregnancy advice. Did I get my girlfriend pregnant, was I sure I didn't, I'm your mother and you can tell me anything." David shuddered theatrically. "After the thirty-minute inquiry into my use of contraceptives I was ready to ask Neal to garrote me with a guitar string, put me out of my misery."

"But you did get me pregnant, sort of." Archie was smiling as he said it, so David felt no compunction in punching his arm lightly.

"Yeah, cue an hour-long speech about firearms and proper employer-employee etiquette. Forget Neal's garrote, I'll go straight for merciful defenestration."

"Nevertheless, I appreciate you calling your mom for me." Archie pressed the cloth briefly to his face and sighed deeply. "I think the candy's working."

"My mom will be pleased." Something else occurred to him, more of his mom's advice, or perhaps from the printouts he'd gotten off his early-morning Google searches. "Hey, you need a foot rub? Or a back rub?"

The look on Archie's face was priceless. Unfortunately (or fortunately; he certainly didn't need more fodder for his frustration), before he could answer David, Archie paled and lunged for the basin.

 

 **WHAT? WHERE AM I? WHAT'S GOING ON?  
WHAT TIME IS IT?**

  
It was dark. David opened his eyes. He still couldn’t see a thing, so he tried to touch his eyelids to see if there were where he thought they were, except he couldn't move his hands.

Time for a situation assessment.

1\. He was lying on something hard and itchy. Definitely a floor, probably concrete blanketed with hay from the maddening itch on his cheek. Other than that, he had no idea where he was. He could only hear his own harsh breathing resonate in his ears and smell nothing but dirt and traces of decaying organic matter (ugh).

2\. He was tied up in at least three places, judging from his sudden lack of kinetic motion. Said places were his hands (behind his back), his legs (to prevent him from kicking out) and his ankles (to make sure). He couldn’t be sure what material the ropes were made of, but — he gingerly tested the give against his wrists — they were tough, and whoever did the knots wasn’t taking any chances.

3\. There was some kind of gag over his mouth. He prodded at it with the tip of his tongue — cloth of some kind. ████, the marks would be mocking fodder for his friends for _days_.

In summary: bound and gagged in some undisclosed location? Kidnapped. Definitely kidnapped.

David tried to ignore this quickening pulse and focused on mentally retracing his steps, as the Middle-Manual Official So You've Been Kidnapped! flowchart had advised.

(When Archie had given him his own copy of the manual, the page on which the flowchart was printed had been bookmarked with a friendly note that read, "MEMORIZE THIS :)". He’d stared at Archie: _you have_ got _to be kidding me._ Archie had stared resolutely back: _no._ That very afternoon, David had been ambushed, held hostage and rescued all in the span of 30 minutes. David reviewed the real-time footage of his ordeal afterward and had realized Archie had followed _every single step on the diagram_. Three kidnappings later, David was seriously considering tattooing the entire thing on his stomach.)

He and Archie'd been on the trail of alien transmitters that had found their way into people’s teeth and were seriously annoying the High Magistrate of Matron Cofelia (who were unsurprisingly threatening intergalactic payback). They’d found out that the victims were all patients of a small-town dentist with a surprisingly specific fetish, but his secretary at the clinic had said he was on vacation. So they’d tracked him down to his family farm where—

— _oh_.

David sneezed. As his mouth had been forced shut, it was not a very fun experience. After he blinked back the involuntary tears and swallowed several times, he pictured the stupid flowchart again. _Is your partner with you?_ it asked. He strained to see anything beyond the pitch-black nothing or hear anything beyond the roar of his body panicking — nothing. He decided to assume that the answer was _No_ (because the alternative couldn't bear imagining) and moved on.

The next question, _Are you still wearing your Middle-Watch?_ , was trickier, as he could barely see the end of his nose, let alone his hands which were trapped behind him. As he was contemplating the best strategy to confirm by touch (aka "bang his wrists against the floor and hope to God he could hear a metallic bang and yet not destroy his watch's delicate internal mechanisms"), he was distracted by a loud boom and his vision was rapidly overwhelmed by piercing painful light.

Once his vision cleared, he could see a fuzzy shape resolve itself inches from his nose. Then, gentle hands cradled his face and a blessedly welcome voice said, "David! Are you OK?"

Like clockwork. Archie was a marvel in uniform.

He grunted an affirmative and wiggled around the floor to show, (a) he was uninjured, and (b) set me free _now_.

"Yes, of course. Let me just—" Fingers prodded at the edges of the gag then Archie moved out of David’s line of sight, presumably to look at his arms and feet. Something 'snicked', and the pressure on David's shoulders released, causing him to moan in his throat as blood painfully rushed back to his hands. He felt a fleeting touch, apology and comfort, on his chafed wrist before his legs, too, were freed efficiently. Rolling onto his back, he blinked up at— were those wooden beams on the ceiling rafters? he’d been stashed in a barn? One look at Archie’s face told him it was so not the time to sit up to attempt to spare his uniform jacket any more humiliation. Finally, the gag was sliced through and he could open his mouth, only to curl up into himself as he coughed dryly.

Archie patted his back, gingerly at first, then more confidently. His hand was a wonderful counterpoint to the hard and grit-spattered floor; David tried not to lean in too obviously into his touch. After the hacking fit subsided, he sat up, and to his surprise, Archie's hand remained where it was.

"What happened?" he asked, carefully stretching his jaw muscles. "Last thing I remember, we'd split up to investigate the dentist's farm and—" He shook his head in frustration. "I got jumped, didn't I?"

The hand curled in minutely, as if Archie had to consciously stop making a fist. David winced inwardly; not a paean of Middle-Apprentice competence, he was. But Archie, being Archie, only said, "Yes, I think so. I called, but you didn't respond to your Middle-Watch, so I activated your tracker and found you here."

And had blown a massive hole through the barn wall while he was at it, David noticed. He also didn't fail to see that Archie had brought along the large neutrino hyper-particle canon (quickly renamed "Big ███████ Gun" by David, when he first laid eyes on it), which explained the size of said hole.

"Thanks," David muttered. He tried to rub away stray grit that had gotten into his eyes and flinched when his skin, rubbed raw to the point of bleeding, pulled uncomfortably.

"We should get your wrists—" Archie started to say, but was interrupted by a bullet striking the ground inches from his feet. Before David could even begin to think about cursing, Archie managed to yank them both behind one of the barn stalls.

Peering over the stall, David caught a glimpse of the dentist they'd been looking for, semiautomatic in hand, before Archie tugged him down and another shot was fired, hitting the wall behind them. He yelled out, "There's two of us and one of you! You think you can get away with this?' and was answered by a bullet and a cry of, "My alien overlords will protect me!"

David rolled his eyes. _Your alien overlords will destroy the Earth if you don't stop bothering them_ , he thought sourly. He turned to Archie. "What's the plan, boss? My right leg’s still asleep, but I can distract him while you do the disarming."

In response, Archie hefted the BFG on his shoulder, stood up and pulled the trigger. There was no return fire.

David blinked. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Poked at a blossoming bruise near his elbow to make sure he hadn’t just hallucinated what he’d witnessed. Blinked again, this time at the hand Archie was offering to help him to his feet. Took the hand, swayed slightly at the change in orientation and blinked for a third time when he felt Archie _of his own volition_ slide an arm around David’s waist in support. The BFG dangled casually at Archie’s other side.

"Let’s get you back to the car," Archie said, as though he didn’t just blast a xenophilic dentist into oblivion without any sort of preliminary warning or signal.

 

 **THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE XENOPHILIC (EX-)DENTIST’S FAMILY FARM  
THREE MINUTES LATER**

  
David stared ruefully down at his wrists as Archie wrapped them neatly in gauze. "The guys will be insufferable when they see these," he couldn’t help saying.

Archie tilted his head. "Why?"

There had been a time when David would have thought nothing of waggling his eyebrows and remarking on the tensile strength of his headboard just to see the full meaning of the innuendo dawn slowly over Archie’s face, but that time had long passed by. His brain, he also had to admit, was stuck on the utter surety with which Archie fired the BFG, like it had been nothing at all to blast a person into smithereens. "Won’t be much use with a guitar," he told Archie.

Regret pinched the edges of Archie’s eyes. "I'm sorry for not finding you sooner."

"'Sorry'?" David briefly wondered if the dentist had managed to open up a wormhole and dump him in some crazy alternate universe. There wasn’t any space in the kidnapping flowchart for a sorry-that-I-didn’t-rescue-you-on-time moment. In fact, after a rare situation when Archie had been the one who needed rescuing, he’d explicitly _forbidden_ David to apologize for not doing enough to prevent his capture. "But I thought Middlemen didn’t have regrets. Only 'experiences'," making airquotes that grazed the backs of Archie’s hands.

Archie shivered, mouth dipping unhappily. "I know." He didn’t say anything else, but David could see him trembling ever-so-slightly as he smoothed the tape over the gauze’s edge.

 _Do you regret killing the guy? Was it the first time you did that?_ thought David, his feeling of helplessness nearly physical. The words wouldn’t come out, though. They never did, he admitted bitterly. Not when it’s important.

Clearing his throat, he decided to lighten the oppressive mood. "I know how you can make it up to me," he said, forcing a grin as Archie looked up from his dispirited repacking of the first-aid kit. "Let me drive the Middlemobile?"

"I— yes." And shouldn’t David be more pleased at the weight of the keys as they were placed in his palm without protest?

With an unspoken assent, the two of them got into the car and David drove them away, being extra careful with turns and signals even on the deserted back roads miles away from civilization. Archie stared out the window at the passing countryside.

As they reached the freeway and eased into the late-afternoon traffic jam back into the city, David suddenly heard a strangely familiar sound. He glanced to his right.

His boss was giggling. His boss — who used the BFG when his standard blaster would have done, who vaporized a man without negotiating for a peaceful resolution first, who was utterly unlike the one David had come to know and depend on — had one hand on his belly and the other in a fist pressed over his mouth, as though to stifle the merriment spilling from inside him. It wasn't working very well. David must have looked dumbstruck, because Archie lowered both hands and laced them primly on his lap. His cheeks were very pink. "Er, David? What— what seems to be the matter? And, um, eyes on the road, please?"

"Right," David said, adjusting his aching hands on the steering wheel and staring blankly at the station wagon in front of them. "Nothing. I was just. Driving."

An awkward silence filled the Middlemobile.

"It was the baby," Archie offered at last. "It kicked."

David was grateful they were stuck in traffic. If the car had been moving in any way at all, he'd have them stuck in a roadside ditch right about now. Circumstances being what they were, he jerked around to stare at Archie, his elbow managing to strike the horn and cause a brief but awful racket that made both of them jump in their seats.

"Oops," he muttered. "But you did? Wow. That's amazing. Was this the first time?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Archie's hand straying towards his midsection. Not for the first time, David was impressed despite himself with the CRADLE and its hologram generator — if he didn't know any better, he'd think that there wasn't anything different about Archie. He wondered how Archie was dealing with what had to be the world's freakiest mind████.

"It's happened before. A couple of times, actually. Once while I was in the Middle-Jet."

"Was that when the plane dropped twenty feet in the air?" David had a sudden vision of that movie with the tannis root and raw meat cravings, which he hastily pushed to the back of his mind.

The tips of Archie's ears reddened. "I wasn't expecting it."

"Neither was I. Those tacos I had for lunch didn't taste so good when they're already partially-digested. You know, you gotta tell me these things."

Archie frowned. "I don't think even Ida can come up with an accurate way to predict when my baby will kick, David."

"No, I don't mean that, that's just silly," David said. He gestured vaguely at Archie's direction. "I mean, I'm," he hesitated, then decided to get the creepy-and-embarrassing bit over and done with, "cataloging the whole thing. Not like what you and Ida do with the nutrients and hormone levels and cranial development and whatever - I leave those things to the experts. But stuff like kicks and heartbeats—I, I record them, OK? So we can look back and, well, not _laugh_ , but— it's dorky, I know."

"It's not." David was startled at Archie's vehemence. "It's, that's cool, actually. I mean, my— my mom showed me my baby book once. There was a photograph of my ultrasound in it."

Clearing his throat, David busied himself with adjusting his seat belt strap as he tried to come up with a reply that wasn't wholly, "Tell me more about your family, _I need to know_ ," and didn't ache with everything he felt about what Archie had just confessed. He settled on, "Mine too."

As he drove and Archie tried and failed to stay awake beside him, David reasoned that he shouldn't have been that surprised about how his boss handled the situation at the farm. The dentist was obviously unstable and shooting wildly, and if anything happened to Archie and his kid— his grip on the wheel tightened, and he welcomed the twinge of lancing pain— the BFG wouldn't even be _enough_.

 

 **THE ILLEGAL SUBLET THAT DAVID SHARES WITH ANOTHER YOUNG, LACONIC MUSICIAN  
THREE MONTHS AND TWENTY-ONE DAYS BEFORE DELIVERY**

  
It was Zombie Movie Night at the sublet, and due to Duane Jones fighting off the undead at maximum volume, David didn't notice his Middle-Watch whooping until Kyle stuck his hand under a pile of magazines, pulled the flashing watch out and tossed it to David without looking away from the TV. Throwing a handful of popcorn back, David hurried to the bathroom, studiously ignoring Andy and Neal's significant looks at each other.

"Archie?"

"Good evening, David. I hope I wasn't intruding into your night."

David shook his head, surreptitiously wiping down his butter-y fingers on his jeans. "Zombie Movie Night isn't very exciting once I experienced the real thing."

"Oh," Archie said. "Zombie Movie Night?"

"Just a thing I have with my friends," David explained as he settled down on the toilet, propping his elbow on the sink. "Rent crappy z-movies, mix them up with some classics to cleanse the palate, just add beer and popcorn and, one memorable evening, realistic fake eyeballs in Andy's drink."

He saw Archie nod, more out of politeness than any real comprehension. For the nth time, David wondered what kind of fun social things Archie did before he became the Middleman, who _his_ friends were and if he still talked to them, or thought about them.

"Anyway," he continued, "do I need to don my Middle-Gear and dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?" He hoped his guilty eagerness wouldn't be so noticeable over the watch's speakers.

"No, you don't have to," Archie replied. "I really didn't mean to interrupt. It's just that—" he glanced at something off-screen— was he still at HQ? David peered at the screen. Yes, he could see the HEYDAR behind Archie, and look, Ida's hair in a corner. It was Friday night, almost midnight if the battered clock tied to a string on the towel rod was correct, and his boss was still in the office. How come he hadn't noticed that before? "—I have some new information about my, um, baby that you might like to know?"

"That is a perfectly legitimate reason to take me away from Zombie Movie Night," David declared, feeling weirdly pleased. "Tell me the good news."

"She's a girl. I know I said I didn't, like, want to know, or really, that I don't care," said Archie all in a rush, "but Ida was crazily insistent about ultrasounds because of something she read on Cochrane, and, um, here we are."

 _God bless Ida and her interest in reading medical databases,_ David thought. Out loud, he said, "Does this mean I should get off my butt and bid on that Astrophysicist Barbie I saw on eBay?"

There was a small lull as Archie processed the statement's sarcastic qualities. David was pleased to note that those silences were shrinking over time due to prolonged exposure to him.

"Um, no? This— this is good news, right?" asked Archie, and _now_ David heard the anxiety in his voice. He hastened to reassure him.

"Yes, it is. Well, we'd have to make sure that she'll have female presences in her life other than Ida. Who knows what garish polyester monstrosities she'll end up wearing." He wished he could drive over to HQ and be at Archie's side; unfortunately, he'd already drunk a few bottles of Heineken and Archie would not appreciate inebriated driving. "You'll still be the best parent there ever will be, I promise."

Whatever Archie was going to reply with was interrupted by someone banging on the door. "Stop sexting, I need to use the bathroom!"

"…sexting?"

"Shut the ████ up and hold it in, ███████! Er, sorry, boss."

 

 **A FLASHBACK  
SIX MONTHS, FIFTEEN DAYS AND ONE HOUR AGO**

  
"That your boss?"

"Yup."

"Huh."

"Ow. What is this— am I putting cold jello on my face?"

"We don't have bags of frozen vegetables in the fridge."

"Ugh. What? Don't look at me like that. It was a workplace accident, could have happened to anybody."

"While you're being a temp."

"What, like you've never had a ██████ time at work."

"Black eyes. Sprained wrist. Cracked ribs. All just from this week."

"Concerned?"

"About the ███████ rent, yeah."

"Thanks for the concern. It's not gonna happen again, _mom_."

"…"

"He— my boss tried to stop a runaway car from driving across a busy runway by blocking its path."

"Your boss."

"He was trying to, ow, 'negotiate a peaceful compromise' which involved reasoning with the maniac behind the wheel. God, that hurt."

"Your boss is ███████ nuts."

"Tell me about it. He told me off for being too aggressive when I hauled the driver out and tried to punch him."

"Huh."

"You know what the ██████ up thing was? The driver actually stopped. I don't know, man. Insane, but it worked. ████ knows how."

"…"

"…"

"He's cute."

"What did you just say? I'm sorry, I think my head hitting tarmac just damaged my hearing."

"You didn't notice?"

"He's. My. Boss."

"Still cute."

"Never _ever_ say that out loud in his presence."

"Wasn't planning to. Beer?"

"████ yes."

 

 **THE ILLEGAL SUBLET THAT DAVID SHARES WITH ANOTHER YOUNG, LACONIC MUSICIAN  
TEN HOURS BEFORE DELIVERY**

  
David was elbows-deep in a busted amp when Neal came thundering up the stairs. "Yo, Dave," he said. "Your boss is here."

"What? Archie's here?" He quickly checked his Middle-Watch; there were no missed calls.

"Cute boss at the door? That's what I said."

"How many times do I have to tell you not call him—" David let out a breath. "Tell him to come on up," he instructed, ignoring Neal's look in favor of finding something to wipe down his grease-caked hands.

By the time Archie had climbed the last five steps, David had managed to shove the amp and his tools toward a distant corner of his room, scrubbed himself clean, changed his shirt and was lounging casually on his bed. Then he actually caught sight of Archie, and nearly lost his cool altogether.

His boss wasn't wearing the standard Middleman uniform. No bulky Eisenhower jacket, no pants, no boots, no belt holster, no perfectly-knotted tie. David had been halfway towards believing that the ensemble was permanently grafted onto his skin, so embedded were they with his entire image of Archie. So this vision in a plain tee, jeans and sneakers was practically blowing his mind.

David forcibly tore his gaze from the sliver of collarbone showing through the thin shirt and said as normally as he could, "Hey, boss. What's up?"

Archie opened his mouth, then shut it. He shifted from foot to foot. He seemed to be preoccupied with looking around David's room without actually seeing anything. It struck David that this was the first time Archie had ever been in his bedroom.

David coughed softly. Archie started, then colored, ducking down to hide his sheepish smile. "Oh, um. Sorry. I was spacing out, huh?"

"Kinda." Taking pity on him, David patted the space next to him on the bed. "C'mon, sit down."

Archie did, but so gingerly that David had to huff out a laugh and say teasingly, "I know my place isn't up to your usual hygienic standards, but I'm sure prolonged contact isn't actively harmful."

He watched, fascinated, as the color crept down Archie's neck and up to his ears."That's not— I'm not— your place is very nice, it's just— oh, are you doing that teasing thing again?"

"Just a little bit." David waited while Archie politely adjusted himself to sit more comfortably before asking, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I'm just—" Archie hugged himself loosely, his face slightly turned away from David's line of sight. "—worried about tomorrow."

"Yeah. Tomorrow." David thought about the calendar in his night-stand, the meticulous rows of crosses leading up to the date circled in red marker and inscribed with "DELIVERY DATE!!!" in large block letters. "Ready for the big day?"

He was expecting Archie to reply with one of his trademark sayings, pithy and maddeningly earnest, but to his shock, Archie flopped on his back on the bad, covering his face with his hands and saying flatly, "No."

David started at the sight of his prone boss, steadfastly keeping his eyes away from the inches of skin revealed by Archie's shirt pulling up. "You wanna tell me why?"

Archie shook his head and peered through his fingers hesitantly at David. "Can we— do you mind if I nap here for a little while? I'm, uh, kind of tired."

"Not at all," David blurted out. He scrambled off the bed, but was halted by Archie's knee pressing insistently against his. His expression, still partially obscured, was unreadable.

"Can you stay? I mean, I know you're probably not sleepy, but I'd like— that is, I want—"

"I get it," interrupted David, patting his leg soothingly. "I'm a champ at buddy-spooning, you know. Just ask, well, not Neal, but you get what I mean."

"I— yes."

David hurried around his room closing blinds and shutting off lights while Archie turned down the (unmade) sheets. At the door, David hesitated before slipping a sock over the doorknob—he'd deal with the fallout when it came. Soon enough, everything became dark and cozy, the remaining light on the nightstand illuminating Archie's huddled form beneath David's plaid blanket, only the top of his dark head peeking out over the edge.

A discreet breath-check and removal of pointy accessories later, and David was sliding into bed too, keeping a respectful amount of space between him and Archie. He flicked off the lamp as an afterthought.

It was so weird. He'd been sleeping in this bed for _years_ , with other people and by himself, but this was the first time he could recall feeling like it was both too big and too small for him. Archie had only been lying down for, what, five minutes tops, and his scent had already permeated everything.

The thought, _I may never wash these sheets again_ , both appalled and thrilled him. He shifted gingerly where he lay, which (of course) caused Archie to go, "Hmm?"

"Nothing. I was just, um. Wondering if you've thought up a name for your girl yet."

"Oh. I was thinking 'Maria' has a nice ring to it," Archie told him sleepily. "It's got lots of meanings. I had Ida look them up on the HEYDAR and one of the meaning's kinda the same for 'David'—"

"You're pseudo-naming your baby after me?"

Warm, moist air skimmed his face as Archie laughed soundlessly. "No, more of pseudo-naming her after me." In the darkness, David could only hear the bed springs creaking as Archie burrowed into the pillows. His voice was already slurring and sleep-heavy as he said, "My name's David too."

His breathing smoothed out into the regulated rhythm of sleep. David stared at the shadow-cloaked planes of his face for a long time before his eyelids grew too heavy for consciousness.

 

 **MIDDLEMAN HQ  
THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE DELIVERY**

  
"David, I want you to listen to my Code 47."

"No," David interrupted. "I am not listening to whatever pre-recorded final message you've left me from beyond the grave after you've been called on to sacrifice your life for the good of the world. If you die, I will go down to the Underworld and fill out however many paperwork that needs filling so I can get you back."

But despite the anesthesia that was surely coursing its way through his system, Archie had that stubborn set to his mouth that David was rapidly figuring out was his Kryptonite, and he felt himself — unsurprisingly — give in.

"Fine. You better live. I'm not kidding about the Underworld."

Archie patted his arm — or rather, his hand flopped about weakly towards its general direction. "I know you're not."

After Ida wheeled Archie into the medbay, David settled down in the adjacent observation room and, keeping an eye on the screens showing Archie and the baby's vitals, tapped his Middle-Watch.

This was what Archie's Code 47 said:

 _"David, if you're seeing this, the Singularity Scalpel only cut through three dimensions and I have died, bleeding out and in screaming agony, in childbirth. I trust you're well. Stay away from malfunctioning plasma rays, face-hugging xenomorphs or vampires of a certain persuasion._

A pause.

 _"The code to unlock my classified personnel file is 1221165. Ida will pass on the rest of the important information. Don't worry, the folder isn't booby-trapped. It's been an honor to train you, and I know you'll be a great Middleman."_

A double thumbs-up, and the message ended.

David blinked at the darkened screen. He muttered, "You stupid ██████, what kind of ███████ declaration of love is that?

 

 **MIDDLEMAN HQ MEDICAL RECOVERY ROOM  
FIVE MINUTES AFTER DELIVERY**

  
"Oh," said Archie.

"Wow," said David.

"Eh," said Ida.

All three of them stared down at the small, pink and wrinkly baby—officially named Maria—bundled up in sterile swaddling cloths that Archie was holding in his arms.

"She's lovely," said Archie.

"She's quiet," said David.

"She's a carbon-based life form," said Ida.

Baby Maria yawned widely, showing off her pink gums.

"Oh," said Archie.

"Wow," said David.

Ida didn't say anything, as she had already wandered off in search of something more interesting than a mundane miracle of life.

David dropped into the chair beside the bed, unable to take his eyes of the baby—Archie's actual baby, with her tiny fingers and toes, wisps of dark hair (just like her dad) and stubby little noise. He sniffed unashamedly.

"I guess I'll see you in a month," said Archie.

"But she's only been— hang on, you're talking to me," said David, distracted from his budding composition of the awesome commemorative song for this joyful day. "A _month_?"

"I, uh. Applied for some vacation time to be with Maria," Archie replied, looking somewhere halfway between sheepish and pleased. "I have a few weeks stored, what with not having an apprentice before you."

"Oh. How much vacation time?"

Archie told him. It was more than just "a few weeks". David whistled appreciatively, leaning against the wall of pillows keeping Archie upright. "If only I could tell my past self that 'evil doesn't take days off' wasn't just one of your colorful expressions."

Archie laughed, softly enough that Maria only turned her head at the sound. "You'll be in charge of HQ while I'm gone, you know." He peered at David shyly beneath his eyelashes. "I know you'll do a great job."

In response, David's hand found Archie's and held on. They watched Maria sleep for a long time.

 

 **MIDDLEMAN HQ LIBRARY  
A WEEK LATER**

  
Ida had let him go early for a change. Or rather, she'd taken one look at his bedraggled face and told him to inflict himself on less-intelligent beings for a change. David didn't stick around the control room to see if she would change her mind.

On the way to the changing room, he was struck with sudden notion and went instead to the HQ library.

He found Archie's classified personnel file after some minutes' digging into the main database. He deactivated the security measures using the code Archie'd given him, grinned at the large color photo of a younger Archie (still wearing that darn uniform and looking as improbably earnest as ever) at the top of the screen, read the first three lines, and stopped.

He took out his cellphone and typed down the address to Archie's current place of residence. Afterward, for a long time, his finger hovered over the downwards-arrow key, the cursor blinking placidly at him.

Then David stood up, shut down the terminal and left.

 

 ** ~~THE MIDDLEMAN'S~~ ~~DAVID'S BOSS'~~ ARCHIE'S APARTMENT  
TWENTY MINUTES LATER**

  
It was a perfectly ordinary apartment door. Solid wood, simple brass numbers, a polished doorknob. Frankly, David didn't know if any of his suspicions were confirmed — he wasn't even entirely sure if he had _any_ suspicions that required documentary evidence.

He raised his fist to knock again, but the door swung open without warning and Archie was standing in front of him barefoot and in a nearly-scruffy shirt-and-sweats-combo.

David was so startled, the first thing that came out of his mouth was an aghast, "Do you open your door to everybody like that?"

"Um, yes?"

There were no words to describe how wrong, unsafe, stupid and did David mention _wrong_ that was. "That's just— no, Archie. 'Yes' is the most wrong answer that can ever be conceived in reply to that particular question," David told him very seriously.

The bewilderment on Archie's face deepened. "I— I'm sorry? I won't do that again?" he tried. "I'm noting your concern?"

The absurdity of the conversation suddenly struck David and he mentally smacked himself, saying hurriedly, "I swear I didn't come here to berate you about your door-opening habits. Can we rewind this? Hi, Archie. How have you been?" He stuck his hand out somewhat desperately.

Archie still looked like he'd been brained by a fish, but he managed to recover, shaking David's hand briskly and stepping back from the doorway. "I'm doing well, come in."

"Thanks." David sat down on the sofa and tried not to gawk too obviously at his surroundings, while Archie murmured something about getting refreshments. Archie's place was very neat, but it wasn't the kind of antiseptic neatness of a showroom; everything was in their proper places due to their owner being unfailing about tidiness. There were no picture frames anywhere, he noted.

Archie came back with a tray of milk and cookies. The cookies were chocolate chip and topped with — David took one and sniffed — chili powder. At David's raised eyebrow, Archie flushed and muttered, "It was one of the least weird cravings."

"It's still good," David said, after taking a bite. He put down the rest of the cookie and turned towards Archie. "How are you and Maria?" he asked, at the same time Archie said, "How did you get my address?"

"I mean, obviously you look fine, but—"

"Oh, did you get it from my—"

They both quieted. Archie gestured at him to go first.

David cleared his throat. "Yeah, I got it from your file with the code, well, you know the rest. I, uh, I didn't look at any of the other info, I swear."

"But I gave you the code so you could read everything," Archie pointed out.

"I know. I appreciated your giving it."

When it became obvious that David wasn't going to elaborate, Archie said, "Maria's doing OK. She's sleeping in my room. I— My center of gravity's still off and I get dizzy, but the literature I've looked up suggests that this is normal. "

"Even for plasma ray-induced pregnancies?" David couldn't help but joke.

Archie smiled back. "Even then." There were deep shadows under his eyes though.

"You haven't been sleeping well," David observed softly, and without thinking, he reached out and thumbed the thin skin at Archie's cheek, the sweep of Archie's eyelashes nearly catching on the ridges of his fingerprint. Archie started, but didn't flinch away. His hand lingered, then dropped to catch Archie's nearest hand.

"Um. I got used to the weight, it felt nice," Archie said, gazing at their joined hands. "I'd sing sometimes to the baby, when she kicked. It made me feel better."

Something inside David ached at the confession, twisted at imagining Archie curled up in bed alone, humming lullabies to a pregnant belly he couldn't see or touch, to an unknown child that existed only in the ways that it messed up his body and changed his life.

Archie continued, "I had a couple of dreams, well, more like nightmares where— well, I'd wake up and—" He sounded so horribly lonely, and David gripped his hand tightly, at a loss of words.

So he did the next thing that came to mind: he pulled Archie in towards him and held on. Archie didn't even hesitate; he curled into David, forehead pressed against David's chest and his arms trapped between them and— his shoulders were shaking, but David's shirt remained dry, so David clung to him even more fiercely and stroked the back of David's head.

And then Archie was tilting his face up and David looked down, opened his mouth to say some sort of inane platitude, but he couldn't, because Archie was kissing him. It was a gentle press of lips on lips, over too quickly, and Archie broke off, eyes wide, and David stared back.

 _Is this you being emotionally distraught?_ he wanted to ask, but he was afraid of what the answer might be, so he shut up.

But Archie must have seen some tell-tale twitch in his features, because now it was his hand exerting nearly unbearable pressure on David's. He said, rather shakily, "This might not be the best time for this to have happened, isn't it?"

David dipped his head. "The timing's not ideal, yes," he agreed. His own voice was also unsteady.

"We both know there's a lot of things that still need resolving, like the, um, situation with my baby."

"And our ongoing fight against evil and our pursuit of justice."

"Yes," Archie agreed. David could feel his hands shaking, but he was staring determinedly back at him, open and unwavering. "We can't ignore them, or set them aside, or— or render them inconsequential—"

"I know," David said. He felt suddenly weary. "It's duty and responsibility—"

"—but," Archie continued doggedly, cutting him off, "I still think about it. That night. When, um, you kissed me. I never stopped thinking about it." His face was flushed; from embarrassment or desire, David didn't know. "Even if, um, you know you said that we should just forget about that night, I couldn't and if it hadn't been for—"

David kissed him.

This was nothing like the first time with the awkwardness and the bleak yearning in the months that followed, the one made bittersweet by resignation. Not even like Archie's kiss, hesitant and all too brief for the courage it must have taken him to do that. This kiss— there was nothing like it. David had a hand splayed on the expanse of Archie's back, the other clutching at his shoulder, reveling in the feel of having finally permission to do this, to touch Archie in ways he never thought he could. Both of Archie's hands cupped his face, and oh god it was so hot and wet and Archie was practically in his lap, his knees bracketing David's thighs.

David let himself be pushed back against the sofa cushions, preoccupied with pulling up the hem of Archie's shirt, greedily seeking the skin underneath. Archie moaned at the touch, his weight settling fully on top of David's, his fingers raking through David's hair as he trailed kisses up David's jaw, sliding his tongue around David's ear and down his throat. The world narrowed to Archie's mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the way he enveloped all of David's senses with his smell and his feel and his taste.

"Can— may I?" Archie gasped out, and he was staring at David with something like wonder, and David laughed, broken and breathless, and his nod turned into his head thrown back as Archie yanked up his shirt and explored David's chest with his hands and, oh yes, his mouth, his enthusiasm making up for the sloppy artlessness.

And that thought had David groaning out loud, because he hadn't known for certain but he'd guessed that Archie wasn't exactly the poster child for experience, had figured out that Archie didn't just pull anybody close, spread anybody out like they were waiting for Archie to discover their secrets written on their skin, and he had to haul Archie in for another searing kiss, pressing their bodies so close David couldn't tell which heartbeat was David's, and which was Archie's.

Then his hips jerked up and, yes, absolutely yes; both he and Archie gasped at the sudden contact— and oh god it was like he'd been starved for touch, after that everything went frantic and needy and bright at the edges.

David swore loudly as his and Archie's hands tangled at the seam of David's jeans, and he swore with more volume as Archie shoved David's hands away and scrabbled at David's zipper until, ohgodohgodohgod _yes_ , Archie's hand was on his cock and his other hand was yanking at his own sweatpants and David stopped focusing on how fantastic it felt to have Archie touching him so intimately and helpfully stuck his hands inside Archie's pants—

This was better, so much better because now he had fingers wrapped around Archie's cock, and there were no words to describe how unbelievably hot Archie looked, eyelids fluttering and mouth slack with pleasure; David couldn't resist, he had to tilt forward and suck at Archie's lower lip, and that might have been a signal, because now Archie was staring down at him and stroking— the angle was awkward at first, elbows all over the place, but Archie finally moaned, "David, this is—" and David was replying, "yes, I know— yes— oh—" as hot slick flesh slid together, while their free hands clasped, Archie's face pressed at the curve of David's neck—

David thumbed the head of Archie's cock, and Archie's back arched and he was gone, moaning as he jerked arrhythmically above David, then— he bit down on David's skin, the sharp sting of pleasure-pain and the dampness on his hand and Archie's hand and both their bellies overwhelming David as he let the world fall away, whispering Archie's name.

He surfaced to sensibility with Archie mouthing lazy kisses against his temple, more of a caress than anything else. He was murmuring something, muffled and low, and it took David far too long to pay attention to what he was actually saying.

"Hmm?" he asked lazily.

Archie said something, but David could only make out the word "tissues".

"Uh," he managed intelligibly in reply. His hand had drifted of its own accord to twine through the sweat-slick strands of Archie's hair.

Archie turned his cheek, the movement causing air to brush lightly over David's exposed nipple — and David wasn't sixteen anymore, but try telling his dick that. Uncaring of David's dilemma, Archie was saying, "— under the couch." He cleared his throat. "I've got tissues under the couch. Can you, um, David?"

David processed this. Then, "Right, yes. I'll just—" and, making sure not to dislodge the luxuriously warm body draped over his, he groped around until he found what felt like a box of roughly Kleenex-sized proportions.

Cleanup was a matter of inconvenient elbows and brisk wiping, interspersed with lingering touches of lips and fingers as each article of clothing was restored to something resembling tidiness. When they were more or less smoothed out and newly-vertical, David leaned forward and kissed Archie just because he could.

 

 **THE NOT-SO-DISTANT FUTURE**

  
David reholstered his blaster with satisfaction as he watched the man-eating mutant fog writhe amorphously inside the trap. It was a good day's work, if he did say so himself. No humans were harmed, all limbs returned more or less intact.

The Middle-Watch whooped as he finished loading the trap into the Middlemobile's trunk.

"How's the small human?" he asked.

Archie frowned at him. "Piaget's model, David! Maria can hear you, you know! She is doing great."

"Is that the lumberjack?" piped up the small human in question.

David got into the car and switched over to the in-car mic. "When she stops calling me 'lumberjack', I'll stop calling her 'small human'." He raised his voice. "You hear that, small human?"

Over the cheerful giggling, Archie rolled his eyes and muttered something David couldn't quite hear. "Anyway, I called to ask how things are going. Ida's reports are… satisfactory."

Trust Archie to be diplomatic even about the non-existent feelings of a robot. "Captured the mutant fog with no casualties. It's in the back." Neither of them mentioned that Archie could access the Real-Time Situation Recording Archive from his hotel room if he wanted. "Coming back next week?"

"Yes." David could imagine the bright, nearly mischievous smile that accompanied what Archie said next. "Maria's sending the Disneyland photos to your e-mail."

"Kid's a genius. A true successor to the glorious line of brave and smart Middlemen," teased David.

Archie's laugh sent waves of familiar warmth and yearning (the good kind, the best kind, and he knew he'd feel it until he finally, _finally_ had Archie in his arms again) through David, and he grinned like a goofball all the way back to the HQ.


End file.
